thoughts. He turned the letter this way and that, examining first
the back of it and then the front.

"It has not been through the post," he said to the Abbe, who stood
respectfully watching his face, which, indeed, inspired little
confidence, for the chin receded in the wrong way--not like the chin
of a shark, which indicates, not foolishness, but greed of gain--and
the eyes were large and pale like those of a sheep.

"Oh, Heaven forbid!" cried the Abbe. "Such a letter as that! Where
should we all be if it were read by the government? And all know
that letters passing through the post to the address of such as
Monsieur Albert are read in passing--by the Prince President
himself, as likely as not."

Albert gave a short, derisive laugh, and shrugged his shoulders,
which made his admiring mother throw back her head with a gesture,
inviting the Abbe to contemplate, with satisfaction, the mother of
so brave a man.

"Voila," she said, "but tell us, my son, what is in the letter?"

"Not yet," was the reply. "It is to be read to all when they are
assembled. In the mean time--"

He did not finish the sentence in words, but by gesture conveyed
that the missive, now folded and placed in his breast-pocket, was
only to be obtained bespattered with his life's blood. And the Abbe
wiped his clammy brow with some satisfaction that it should be thus
removed from his own timorous custody.